


Nostalgia

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: F/M, Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 12:05:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2507138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Had a request: Douglas/OMC and vulnerability, please?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nostalgia

Nineteen years old, he is, flush out of the sixth form and uncertain about university, because he’s there and he’s in medical school at Oxford, and he’s not sure it’s even the right place for him.

So he goes out: of course he goes out. That’s why he’d gone to uni, isn’t it? To have a good time?

"Hello." Douglas looks up from his beer; he’d been sipping at it leisurely for the time being, watching the girls dance and considering putting himself forwards to charm himself his first university lay. This man is broad-shouldered, ginger-blond stubble on his cheeks, green eyes.

"Hello." Douglas returns, because he can’t imagine what the man’s approaching him for.

(He can. He knows in the way the “l” is drawn out and the way that London accent clings to it, at the way the guy’s eyes flicker down from Douglas’ shoes to the skinny tie still lingering around his neck. Of course he knows - it’s just that this is a man, and he won’t let himself entertain the thought.)

”I’m Herren.” The man says. Posh name. Posh man. Handsome. “You’re a fresher?”

"Douglas Richardson: established fresh meat. That’s me." Douglas says, and his hand goes out. Herren’s fingers are warm against the back of his hand; he’s got a tattoo of Oscar Wilde on his forearm.

Well. Douglas’ hopes aren’t unfounded after all.

"Third year, Lit and German." Herren says quietly, and then he squeezes Douglas’ hand. "Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I didn’t come over here for small talk." He speaks with gravitas and charm. Douglas can’t help but wonder what his cock will feel like in Douglas’ hand.

"Oh, didn’t you?" Douglas says, and his heart soars in his chest - a week away from home and he’s going to fuck a man, Christ, how does one even fuck a man?

Herren smirks at him.

It’s in the alleyway that they crash against each other, and Douglas feels half-giddy with it, Christ, his father would beat him black and blue if he knew-

Herren’s hands are down his trousers and his lips are on Douglas’s neck; Douglas cups the other’s arse and pulls him closer, wants more-

-

"I mean, can you believe it, Dougie!?" He looks up from his orange juice, half-finished in his left hand. Helena is leaning on the counter, glaring at the small TV mounted on the wall.

  
“Hmm? What’s that, dear?” He speaks distractedly, but she’s intent on Breakfast, and not on her husband’s omnisexual nostalgia.

"Gays! Wanting to get married!" Douglas thinks of his first wife, and his eager agreement to act as her beard; unconventional, but effective. Kate had been his best friend.

Douglas thinks of Herren, Freddie, John and Nim and Sam, and the ones that there faces without names attached. Douglas’ love life is a scattered mess of men and women and those not really either.

But Helena is his wife, and he loves her; no sense losing her over something so unimportant. No sense starting an argument.

"Yeah. Ridiculous, I know." He says, and he tries to concentrate on his orange juice again.

"Douglas?" Martin asks as he comes in; the younger man looks uncertain, concerned. He’s handsome, Douglas thinks dully. Too bad he doesn’t know it. "You alright?"

Douglas has the rather bizarre feeling that his ribcage is open and his heart is on display. The thought is disconcerting: he feels a sudden and intense nausea that almost overpowers him.

"Yes, Martin. I’m just fine."


End file.
